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stories Heard in Cafes From Ocean to Ocean 















Class PA 1 (a \ h \ 

Book ,Cfc3 



Copyright N? 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 











DEDICATION 

This volume is respect¬ 
fully dedicated to those 
who want to eat, laugh 
and grow fat. 


THE AUTHOR. 





















~Kvj 


\ 


CAFE CACKLE 

FROM 

DUMPS TO DELMONIGO’S 


By CLIVETTE 

THE MAN IN BLACK 


Side-splitting’ Stories overheard in Cafes 
throug'hout the country, and Incidents 
in the Life of a Wonder-worker 



MORE THAN 125 ORIGINAL ILLUSTRATIONS 
BY THE AUTHOR 


LAIRD & LEE, Publishers 
CHICAGO 






©i^cL V'M. 

CM 246228 

SEP: 4 1909 

0«t 













CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Swallow 1, 


9 

That Housekeeping- Thing, 


. 23 

The Christian Scientist, . 


. 35 

The Superstitious Magician, . 


. 53 

A Champion, .... 


. 65 

The Fire Alarm, 


. 81 

The Worm Doctor, . 


. 91 

A Cock Fight, .... 


. Ill 

Ghosts,. 


. 125 

The Hungry Giant, 


. 135 

A Bull Fighter’s Demise, 


. 149 

At Delmonico’s, 


. 157 

A Naughty Man, 


. 165 

A Loving Couple, 


. 181 

A Phonograph Affinity, . 


. 193 

Honest Debts. 


. 207 

The Doctor, .... 


. 213 

The Gambler’s Luck, 


. 217 

Life, . . . • 


. 221 

The Cheerful Giver, 


. 227 

The Sure-Thing Man, 


. 231 

The Hungry Painter, 


. 235 

For He Was an Honest Man, . 


. 241 

Stranded, . . 


. 245 

Stung. j. . . .. 


. 259 






Preface 


[Most Americans visit public dining rooms 
more or less often, and thousands, of course, 
patronize the cafe regularly . 

The <e continuous performance ” patron of the 
restaurant or hotel dining-room will , more than 
any other , recognise many of the odd characters 
shown in the free-hand pencil sketches that go 
with these tales heard in cafes from ocean to 
ocean — though ALL lovers of a hearty laugh 
should read Cafe Cackle and be happy, like 


"THE MAN IN BLACK.” 





















SWALLOW I. 

Biographies are usually tiresome. 
The life of the author of this magnifi¬ 
cent volume is no exception. I well 
remember, as a boy, how I detested 
anything that had a semblance of work 
—in fact, I was born tired. My de¬ 
light as a child was to crawl out on the 
roof of the old oak house and watch the 
sun peep o’er the hills and bathe the 
landscape with scintillating beauty. 
As the air became warm, I would crawl 
down to the old apple tree beside the 


9 


10 


Cafe Cackle 


roof and linger in the shady branches 
and listen to the birds sing. 

At this early age, I conceived the 
idea that life means but little unless 
one does as one pleases. The thoughts 
of labor always had a peculiar effect on 
my sensitive temperament. At times 
I would become morbid thinking of it, 
and would drown my sorrow with any¬ 
thing luscious I could get hold of. In 
fact, it didn’t seem to matter whether 
it belonged to me or not. 

I have always been a chooser— 
where there was a choice. 

Of course, there have been times 
during my checkered career when 





PRET1Y!’ "SWEET? MH!"' 













Stories Heard in Cafes 


13 


choice lingered in the lap of the lan¬ 
guishing past. 

At such sad moments I have been ob¬ 
liged to take anything within reach— 
but mind you, not without protest. 

I love the beautiful. 

I was born with a natural taste for 
everything good to eat—I have trav¬ 
eled the world over—up, down, back¬ 
ward and across—and have never 
found anything too good for my fas¬ 
tidious palate. 

What a soothing effect fine old wine 
has on the jaded nerves—mid how 
those nerves respond after a couple of 
bottles or so. 





Cafe Cackle 


Well, I guess yes! 

Cafes, restaurants and swell gather¬ 
ing places, where they serve the em¬ 
balmed spirits of the festive grape of 
by-gone times, have always been my 
predilection. 

How different life seems to those 
that have magnificently developed 
livers. 

What a gaseous place this world is 
to those who know the ropes. 

How easy it is to loaf and grow fat 
at the expense of others. 

What a joy there is in spending 
other people’s money. Really the 
spender is a happy being. 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


15 


I remember once in the northern por¬ 
tion of California, an Irishman, by the 
name of Sullivan, and myself were 
broke, so we walked out in the suburbs 
of a beautiful little burg to enjoy the 
scenery and incidentally to hit a stray 
chicken in the head with a rock and 
roast same over a fire of perfumed 
wood. Sullivan could always throw 
well; he was once the sole proprietor 
of a baby rack, which he ran at the 
fairs. So I pointed out some smooth 
stones and a chicken and he did the 
rest, even to the picking. 

We wandered out a little farther 
and came upon the bank of a rippling 



i6 


Cafe Cackle 


brook of cool, clear water, overhung 
with grapes that dangled from the 
friendly branches of luxurious trees. 
While Sullivan was gathering the 
wood and preparing the fire, I noticed 
a bunch of hoboes about a hundred 
yards away having a “tuck-in.” I 
gazed at them languidly and looked a 
few hundred feet beyond and spied a 
lone individual sitting under a tree. 
It occurred to me this individual was 
the one bright spot in view, of course, 
barring the chicken Sullivan was pre¬ 
paring to roast. I knew it would take 
fully half an hour to prepare this un¬ 
fortunate, so I told Sullivan to yell 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


17 


when it was ready, and I sauntered 
over to interview this lonely dreamer. 
I broke in on his peace—it was a shame 
—barring his six months’ growth of 
beard and shabby appearance, he 
looked like a madonna. He was ex¬ 
cessively poetic, and extremely com¬ 
municative to me, as he said I re¬ 
minded him of his long lost brother. 

This may or may not have been true. 
However, he talked and he had a phil¬ 
osophy—and unlike most philos¬ 
ophers, he was putting his into execu¬ 
tion. He had a theory of life.—a work¬ 
ing theory—but he didn’t work— 

He explained it to me thusly: 



Cafe Cackle 


18 


“You notice those men over there 
toiling—pointing at some harvesters 
—Well, first they clear that ground 
by chopping and grubbing; then they 
plough, put in their crops, attend to 
them daily, cultivating, hoeing, chas¬ 
ing off crows, rabbits and other small 
game, and at last watching with a keen 
eye the bugs that multiply as the heads 
gather and ripen. I sit and watch 
them until I get tired then I drowse a 
little, awaken and listen to the brook 
and the rustling leaves, watch the 
sportive minnow and the darting 
swallow and harken to the song of the 
merry thrush. As evening falls the 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


19 


night birds chirp me to quiet dreams 
beneath this beautiful studded vault 
of blue. My life is one long-drawn 
strain of tranquillity. While the toil¬ 
ers toil, I look on with a loving sym¬ 
pathy, knowing God will reward them 
with a glowing harvest if all goes well. 
I note them reap the grain and watch 
them bind, stack and thrash it out, and 
then I see the tired ponies drag it to 
the mill. 

“After many days it is returned in 
new, white bags and the busy house¬ 
wife is up bright and early making it 
into pies, cakes and luscious biscuits. 

I note the viands placed for cooling 



20 


Cafe Cackle 


— 5 Tis then I become loving, my sym¬ 
pathy extends to all mankind—I draw 
near the cooling place. And when 
they are cooled so that they can be 
comfortably carried, I take them away, 
and replenish the stream of my ebbing 
fancies— 

“And thus I lead a life of cheer— 
knowing God is good.’ 5 













































































































THAT HOUSEKEEPING 
THING. 

In ’Frisco, before the quake, 
Kemp’s, on Clay St., served a table 
d’hote that was very agreeable for the 
price. And the beauty of the place 
was you could meet all classes and 
all nationalities and the atmosphere 
seemed to teem with ideas. 

Late one afternoon I strolled into 
the place and took a table on the side 
and sat back to look at the paper and 
have a quiet time by myself when a 
23 


24 


Cafe Cackle 

strange-looking individual peeping 
from behind a post, said, “are you 
lonesome?” and smiled. 

I looked up and said I was and 
asked him to come over, and tell me 
the news. 

He acquiesced, and uncorked the 
following: 

“You see it’s like this: I was a mar¬ 
ried man and my wife had a family 
and they all liked me. They liked me 
to such an extent, they all insisted on 
living with me. Of course, where peo¬ 
ple in this world show a disposition of 
love, it is hard to hurt their feelings. 
And then you naturally feel it is your 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


25 


part to be hospitable. Well, we lived 
on for a time. Not exactly lived, we 
existed. I did the cooking most of the 
time. None of the family cared for 
breakfast—only coffee and rolls. 
They liked to rest, as they called it, in 
the morning. We had several girls, 
but none of them cared to stay more 
than a week or two, as they said they 
could not get on to the combination as 
the whole ‘shebang’ lacked method. 
I thought I discovered method in near¬ 
ly everything about the place, but then 
I couldn’t convince those kitchen me¬ 
chanics, so they departed one by one, 
and each time I would have to re- 



26 


Cafe Cackle 


plenish the kitchen, as the utensils 
seemed to take wings with the last 
users. The family said they enjoyed 
my cooking better than they did any 
of the girls’, as I was neat and clean, 
and that was more than they could say 
about any of those nasty things. 

“Now, don’t think for a moment I 
am green, I have seen many things in 
my time, but that housekeeping thing 
is the limit. 

“You get up in the morning feeling 
brisk, break the ice in the sink and get 
a few drops of water for your hair; 
turn on the gas for the stove and find 
the pipe “busted” and gas escaping. 




































Stories Heard in Cafes 


29 


You rush out for a new hose, bring it 
in and attach it, and it is too large. 
Then you hunt for a string and tie it 
on; it works, but it don’t look right. 
You reach for the coffee pot and man¬ 
age to get enough water and ice to 
make a few cups for the family who 
are peacefully slumbering. You reach 
for the coffee can and find it empty. 
You get on your coat and rush out to 
the grocery and find quite a crowd 
waiting for rolls. In time the fellow 
puts up the coffee and tells you he has 
not the time to grind it, as he is alone, 
and adds, 'look at the crowd!’ You 
clutch this coffee and rush up stairs, 



30 


Cafe Cackle 


kick open the door, slide in and reach 
for a hammer. You empty the coffee 
into a napkin, pull the ends together 
and hammer the life out of it, and each 
time you hit it you wish it were the 
groceryman’s head. 

“By this time the water in the pot is 
nearly boiled away.’ You fill it up and 
wait again. Of course, your reputa¬ 
tion is at stake—good coffee must be 
made at all hazards. 

“Just as it is done, you go out to the 
dumb waiter and find someone has 
stolen the cream. On goes that coat 
and hat again and you rush for the 
nearest dairy, three blocks away. By 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


31 


the time you ‘hot-foot’ it back the 
coffee is cold. And this same feeling 
seems to pervade the whole family. 
Even the dog growls low. Well, you 
twist this into yourself, and incident¬ 
ally into the family, but it don’t give 
satisfaction. The stomachs of any 
household will rebel at cold coffee. 

“It’s marvelous what a close connec¬ 
tion there is between the stomach and 
the head. If that stomach is out of 
order the head is simply on the bum. 

“The heads of this noble family took 
on a chaotic aspect. I made an agree¬ 
ment with my wife to board the fam¬ 
ily—that is, her family—and she nat- 



3 ^ 


Cafe Cackle 


urally stays with them. I pay the bills, 
they are happy, and so am I. The table 
d’hote for mine!” 




























































THE CHRISTIAN SCIENTIST. 


One afternoon about four o’clock 
my wife and I were walking down one 
of the main streets in Seattle, Wash., 
when an individual tapped me on the 
back and said, “Hello, Cull, where are 
you going?” 

I turned around and saw a face I 
had seen before, but I couldn’t tell 
where. I said, “Hello, glad to see you; 
how long have you been in town?” 

“Well, I have been in this d-d 



36 


Cafe Cackle 


place about a week, and say, Cull, it 
seems like a year.” 

“We are just going over to the 
Rathskeller to have something to eat. 
Come on over.” 

He came! We walked down a side 
street to the ladies’ entrance and down 
stairs. 

When we were seated I passed 
’round a bunch of bills-of-fare and 
said, “What will you have?” 

He scarcely looked at the bill and 
said, “I’ll have a piece of mince pie 
and a glass of beer; and say, Cull (ad¬ 
dressing the waiter), bring along a 














































Stories Heard in Cafes 


39 


piece of cheese big enough to get my 
tooth in . 55 

My wife ordered everything in sight 
and I laughed and said, “Bring me a 
quart of wine.” 

In due time the waiter staggered in 
with a load within and without, and 
muttered in a German dialect some¬ 
thing about noodles, and his mouth 
watered. 

I said, “alright, bring in a bunch.” 

I looked at my new-made friend and 
said, “have something else 4 ?” 

He said, “alright; bring me some 
soup and another stein.” 

I laughed and said, “you are some- 



40 


Cafe Cackle 


thing of a Chinaman yourself, are you 
not?” 

He said, “Yes, Cull, I like my des¬ 
sert first, while my appetite is good. 
If you don’t mind, I guess I’ll have 
some of your wine,” and he reached 
for the bottle and poured it into his 
stein, which was half filled with beer. 

He ate his soup, drank his beer and 
wine, and ordered a beefsteak, Span¬ 
ish, a plate of dill pickles and an ap : 
pie dumpling and a glass of whisky. 

He disposed of these and said, 
“Cull, I’m glad to meet you again, I 
guess I’ll have a cordial and an ab¬ 
sinthe.” 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


41 


The waiter looked as though he 
would drop dead—but he didn’t. 
He was next to his job and brought in 
what was ordered. 

My newly-made friend disposed of 
the drinks and ordered a cup of coffee, 
large, with plenty of cream. 

In course of time the meal was fin,- 
ished and the German waiter knit his 
brow and handed me the bill, pocketed 
his tip and reached for my coat. As 
he was putting it on he whispered in 
my ear, “Do you think your friend will 
die?” 

I answered, “I don’t know. I’m go- 



4 * 


Cafe Cackle 


ing to stay with him a couple of hours; 
if he does, I’ll let you know . 55 

We walked up the stairs and into 
the street. The atmosphere was filled 
with fog and hard to breathe. I heard 
a noise, and I thought my friend was 
trying to eat it, but he was only mak¬ 
ing a few suggestions. He invited us 
up to his apartments. We went. 

When we got on the inside we saw 
the dresser piled up with fruit of every 
description, oranges, lemons, apples, 
pears, dates, figs, raisins, shelled nuts, 
and the floor covered with bottles of 
punch, cocktails, Swedish drinks, rye 
whisky, Scotch ale and brandy. 














































































































































































? 





























Stories Heard in Cafes 


47 


He winked and pulled open one of 
the drawers and it looked like a delica¬ 
tessen shop. Weinerwurst, liverwurst, 
salami, sausages of every size and 
color—all of the fifty-seven varieties, 
and a portion of each was ground into 
the velvet carpet. My wife and I 
laughed for fifteen minutes. So did 
our friend; but all the time he picked 
at this material as though he had 
never eaten a thing in his life. 

Finally he said he felt a slight pain. 
I suggested it might be flatulency. He 
said he didn’t think so, but he guessed 
he would have a little brandy. 

I handed him the bottle and he took 





"OHMARY! 



















Cafe Cackle 


5 ° 

several large swallows and belched 
again. I asked him if he was ever 
troubled with indigestion. He said, 
“I guess not,” and began peeling an 
orange. He ate this, chewed up a few 
caramels, sucked a lemon, and drank a 
large glass of Swedish punch. My wife 
and I looked on in amazement. He 
said, “Cull, I have found you can en¬ 
joy yourself in this world if you are 
only a Christian Scientist. I am one,” 
and he reached for a bottle of whisky 
and added, “What does it matter?” 



/ 








































































THE SUPERSTITIOUS 
MAGICIAN. 

During the Centennial, 1876, a ma¬ 
gician by the name of Pazazo, made 
quite an impression with the visitors 
by exhibiting clever card tricks. These 
tricks seemed to border on the super¬ 
natural and Pazazo would take an 
oath he was helped out by the spirit 
world. He told this so much he fairly 
believed it, and at last took on such a 
mysterious air he was noticeable to an 
ordinary observer. He actually fooled 
53 


54 


Cafe Cackle 


himself. He would practice clever 
manipulations before a mirror in his 
room and look surprised. He carried 
this same look when he appeared be¬ 
fore the audience. And the idea ac¬ 
tually got into his head he was the Old 
Boy Himself. He wore a Prince Al¬ 
bert coat on the street and on the stage 
and whenever he wanted to make an 
overly good impression he would let 
a long red tail, forked, drop down 
from under his coat and trail on be¬ 
hind, which usually provoked a huge 
laugh from the onlookers— 1 who took 
it for a good joke. 

Pazazo never laughed; he was in 



“YE T2S^ 







Stories Heard in Cafes 


57 


dead earnest. He continually thought 
of ghosts, death and the spirit world. 
He talked of nothing else to his inti¬ 
mate friends, and to a brother con¬ 
jurer he said, “Now we are both Ma¬ 
sons, Brother Masons, and we under¬ 
stand each other. Now listen! If I 
die first I am going to let you know 
about the other side. And if you die 
you are going to let me know! Give me 
your word as a Mason! Your hand/ 5 
The two clasped hands. 

Now this friend Cafetetell,'for this 
was his name, was not quite sure Pa- 
zazo’s mind was in the very best con¬ 
dition, and the more he thought of it 



Cafe Cackle 


the more he was sure Pazazo was clean 
off his “nut.” 

One night they were sitting in Ca- 
fetetell’s room and Pazazo said after 
reflecting moodily for an hour or two, 
C£ I am going to die and I am going to 
visit you. I want you to remember 
this, we won’t make this at 12 o’clock 
on Friday night. We will make this 
n o’clock on Thursday night. Now, 
understand, every Thursday night at 
n o’clock you be in your room with 
the light turned down low and listen. 
I am going to rap three distinct raps. 
Understand! three distinct raps.” 

* Cafetetell turned pale and nodded 






Stories Heard in Cafes 


61 


his head. He looked at Pazazo and 
shrieked. 

Pazazo had a razor in his hand and 
immediately drew it across his own 
throat. He fell forward on the floor 
in a pool of blood. Cafetetell fainted. 
When he came to he looked for Pa¬ 
zazo. Poor Pazazo had been taken to 
the morgue. Cafetetell looked 
around and found he was in a hos¬ 
pital. He didn’t get out for six days. 
When he did he found Pazazo had 
been buried by the Masons. 

Thursday night at 11 o’clock found 
Cafetetell in his room with the light 
turned low, waiting for raps. 



62 


Cafe Cackle 


They didn’t come. 

The following Thursday night he 
waited as before. They did not de¬ 
velop. He continued for a year, never 
missing a night. He intended giving 
up, but he thought to himself, “I will 
try this one more Thursday night at 
] l o’clock.” 

On this night he stood in the center 
of his room, with his watch in his hand, 
and just as the hands reached 11 the 
raps same. Cafetetell fainted. When 
he came to he looked in the mirror and 
found his hair as white as snow. A 
pale pink mark reached from ear to 
ear. He believes in Spirits! 





o 




































A CHAMPION. 


Out at the Highlands, St. Louis, is 
a scene with attractive qualities, but 
like all attractive things by close in¬ 
spection, develops a skeleton. We 
were sitting at a table gazing lan¬ 
guidly over the view, which was hazy 
and mystical, and our minds conjured 
up all kinds of weird fantasies, when 
we were interrupted by a waiter shov¬ 
ing a couple of bills-of-fare in our 
faces, at least a foot across by two long. 
We asked if they carried the entire 


65 


66 


Cafe Cackle 


bill in the kitchen, and he laughed and 
said, “I don’t know, but I saw the 
cook bringing in a steak.” His mind 
seemed to dwell on steaks and I asked 
him if he ran to steaks. 

He said, “Well, you see that large 
building way over there on the hill 4 ? 
Well, I aught to be there—that is the 
asylum!” 

“I’m surprised, almost delighted, 
but you don’t look quite that bad. 
Tell me about this thing. How long 
have you had it?” 

“Well, as there is no one in the 
place, and you don’t seem to be in a 
hurr)^, I will. 



fUNNY! 















Stories Heard in Cafes 


69 


“You know this steak thing is on 
my nerves in two ways. I staked a fel¬ 
low once to steaks. This fellow came 
in and ordered a meal and got to talk¬ 
ing with me and said he had a chance 
to make a barrel of coin if he could get 
a little backing. I knew a lot of people 
and I asked him how much he wanted. 

“ ‘Well, 5 he said, Til tell you. You 
may not like the scheme, but it’s a 
peach. I’m a lightweight pugilist, and 
I’m unknown in this locality, but I’ve 
been watching these scraps around this 
town and I can clean the bunch with¬ 
out perspiring a drop, if I can get a 
“wad” behind me and a place to train. 



?o 


Cafe Cackle 


This town looks good to me. I’ve been 
all over the world and this place is a 
“downy pillow.” 5 

“I had some money in the bank and 
a lot of friends, and I took an interest 
in this fellow, as he was so positive he 
could get all the money in town, I 
really thought I could see it myself, 
and I said, I’ll see you tomorrow and 
I’ll let you know.’ 

“As soon as I got through work I 
hunted up my friends and told them I 
had found a wonder. They listened 
and said ‘we are in with you. Let’s 
trim these wise sports around here and 
jump the town.’ 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


71 


“The next day we all met 'the won¬ 
der’ and listened to his talk, and he 
made a great hit with us all, and we 
signed a contract then and there and 
put up the coin. We picked out the 
man we thought best capable to dig 
up matches and we set to work train¬ 
ing our 'find.’ 

“He began by ordering a 'porter¬ 
house and mushrooms, and McEwen’s 
ale’ and the way he laid away that 
steak was a caution. We knew we were 
up against the 'real thing’ and were 
overjoyed. 

“The manager got a bunch of train¬ 
ers and rubbers, and a kit of junk that 



72 


Cafe Cackle 


would hold an army of athletes, and 
our ‘wonder’ got down to business. 
He was a wonderfully clever boxer, 
and everyone about the camp was in 
high glee, especially the manager, 
who said he would lay for big game or 
nothing. In fact he intended to take 
on the top-notchers one after another. 

“But the days went by and the top- 
notch managers didn’t seem to get to¬ 
gether. But the ‘wonder’ kept right 
on eating, and the trainers and follow¬ 
ers of the trainers also had to eat in or¬ 
der to keep in trim and the bank roll 
was being gnawed at both ends. It was 
more than evident to me that unless 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


73 


something was done, and done quick¬ 
ly, our 'husky lightweight’ would be¬ 
come a heavyweight. He seemed to 
lose speed as he gained flesh, and he 
was taking it on at an alarming rate, 
and his appetite, already enormous, 
was increasing daily. 

“At last the camp, which was becom¬ 
ing gloomy, had a revival of spirits. 
The manager returned one day with 
news he had signed. 

“This had such an effect on our won¬ 
der that he sat down and ordered a 
double porterhouse and three bottles 
of ale. The way he punished this was 
a shame—and we all thought what he 



74 


Cafe Cackle 


would do to the poor fellow our foxy 
manager had rounded up. 

“It looked so easy one of the gang 
suggested it would be a good idea to 
send a note over asking for the stakes. 
It seemed cruel for our 'wonder 5 to 
take the trouble to punch the mug of 
this unsuspecting pug. 

“Our manager said, 'Never mind, 
boys, we’ll give the public a little run 
for their money and slip them the “ha- 
ha 55 after we have cleaned up the batch 
of pickles they have jarred . 5 

“We all had another round of drinks 
and feasted our eyes on 'the wonder 5 
for a time, and went to bed. 














76 


Cafe Cackle 


“Orders were given for an early ris¬ 
ing, as work must apparently begin in 
earnest to get the right dope in the 
papers. Well, we worked the press to 
a fare-thee-well and had the people go¬ 
ing and bloodthirsty. 

“The night of the fight came around 
and we were in a glee. The house was 
filled and we were sure of getting the 
big end. Our ‘wonder’ was first in 
the ring and received a big ovation. 
He still had on his bathrobe—Turkish 
design. The man he was to meet soon 
followed and received a slight greet¬ 
ing. 

“We all felt sorry. But we were 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


77 


there for the money and waited for the 
gong. We all heard it. I can hear it 
still. It sounded like a funeral knell. 
The men shook hands and our 'won¬ 
der 5 seemed to lose his elasticity. The 
other man had hit him almost un¬ 
noticed; but there must have been 
something of the death-producing 
kind in that wallop. Our 'wonder 5 
stood still for at least two seconds and 
then began to fall in several direc¬ 
tions. The floor seemed to be alive, 
for it hit him all over. 

"The referee seemed bewildered, for 
he didn’t begin to count for at least a 
half a minute, and when he did the 



7 « 


Cafe Cackle 


crowd began to hoot. Our manager 
was not in sight and hasn’t been since. 

“And when our ‘wonder’ came to, 
he asked, ‘Where am I?’ One of the 
trainers answered, ‘You are sleeping 
on a porterhouse, you mushroom,’ and 
we all sneaked out into the muddy 
night. 

“No more of ‘that fight game’ for 
mine. I’ll carry a steak, but someone 
else will pay for it. 

“What’s your order?” 







r 




« 















































THE FIRE ALARM. 


In Lexington, Ky., during race 
week we were up against it for “fare.” 
The town was jammed, streets 
crowded and hotels filled to the very 
halls, in fact cots were piled up like 
bunks in a Chinese joint. The dining 
rooms ana restaurants were blocked, 
and every cook in the town was near¬ 
ing the “daffy” house. Hundreds of 
green waiters were employed and 
kicks were registered by the million. 

We got into one of the leading ho- 
81 


82 


Cafe Cackle 


tels, and put most of our time in 
waiting for meals and watching the 
angry crowd. The lunch hour was the 
most disastrous of all in this particular 
hotel. 

The dining room was a square a half 
block each way, and the waiters got to 
the kitchen by double-swinging doors. 

Now old-time waiters understand 
that they keep to the right and follow 
their noses. The only thing the green 
ones thought of was getting through 
the doors. 

The tables were filled and each 
green waiter—all colored—would 
take all of the orders, “Yes, sah!” and 























































Stories Heard in Cafes 


85 


rush out and bring in the bill-of-fare 
to each guest. At least that was the in¬ 
tention of these “foxy ’ 5 blacks, but the 
working out of the idea was another 
thing entirely. 

Racing was in the air. Everyone 
talked it, and “speed” was the watch¬ 
word. 

Dishes piled up on the tables—a 
nibble out of each—and they had to 
be removed. The omnibuses were 
green, and piled them badly on trays, 
and lost their heads. The one thing 
they knew was to get to the kitchen, 
and most of them fairly flew, as they 



86 


Cafe Cackle 


had been threatened by “colonels” 
that looked “bad.” 

Six of the colored gentlemen were 
following each other single file, run¬ 
ning with trays loaded up mountain 
high, with half filled dishes of soup, 
pie, beef a la mode, etc., and were do¬ 
ing well until they struck these double 
doors, when the black sheep leading 
struck the wrong door and came in con¬ 
tact with another chain of waiters 
loaded with food coming into the din¬ 
ing room. 

A like collision was probably never 
before seen on earth. There were at 
least a dozen waiters piled up in a 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


87 


heap, and all looking like old men 
of the sea, dripping with seaweed,— 
the bunch took the cake. The trays 
seemed to take on intelligence for they 
began dancing jigs on the heads of 
these coons, and the soup ran over 
them like the oil poured down Aaron’s 
beard. Their ears were filled with 
roast pork and apple sauce; pie was 
jammed edgeways into their eyes, and 
as they ducked and scrambled the 
dishes beat a tattoo on their empty 
skulls, and they breathed turkey stuff¬ 
ing into their lungs. They all got mad 
and went to pommeling each other and 
throwing the china. In two minutes 



88 


Cafe Cackle 


after the collision there was not a table 
standing upright nor a chair on its 
legs. 

The women howled, screamed and 
became hysterical, and the men ran 
for their lives. Someone had sense 
enough to turn in an alarm but made a 
mistake and rang up the fire depart¬ 
ment, which, wonderful as it may 
seem, were on the job. They arrived, 
unreeled the hose, grabbed their axes 
and cut their way into the building— 
and flooded it with water. This put 
out the fire in the coons’*eyes—and we 
all camped in the street that night. 










































































' 













































r ->; 











THE WORM DOCTOR. 

I was sitting on a stool at a lunch 
counter in a town called McPherson, 
waiting for the train going East, when 
an individual with a twinkling eye 
came into the place and ordered a 
piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. 
He looked at the pie as the waiter put 
it down and said, “I think those apples 
were wormy.” 

The remark struck me as ridiculous, 
at the same time rather out of place,— 
but I had to laugh. The stranger 
91 


92 


Cafe Cackle 


turned to me and said, “You know I 
always talk business while taking my 
meals. I’m a doctor—worm doctor! 
Well, not exactly a worm doctor, but I 
have been talking worms of late, and 
they’re on my mind. Did you ever 
have any?” 

“Not so you could notice it,” was 
my reply. “But tell me about it. I am 
just as interested in worms as I am in 
people. You needn’t be a bit afraid, 
I am quitting this country and any¬ 
thing you tell me will be all right, I 
won’t give it away to the community 
in this neighborhood, as I am a fakir 
myself!” 



"IT5-RIGH 














































































































. 




. 

























































. 









- • 




Stories Heard in Cafes 


95 


This seemed to put him on easy 
street and he became communicative 
and said, C T11 tell you how it hap¬ 
pened. It was like this: I was broke, 
and I sat thinking it over. I had my 
head between my two hands, with my 
elbows resting on my knees, and I sup¬ 
pose my attitude suggested my state of 
mind to an observing stiff that hap¬ 
pened to come along, who tapped me 
on the shoulder and said, ‘Cheer up, 
old boy, I’ve got a scheme if you have 
got the money!’ At the word money 
my head slipped between my hands 
and my whole frame relaxed. The very 
thoughts of money exhausted me! But 



96 


Cafe Cackle 


in time I pulled myself to and sat up 
and took notice. 

“I looked at this strange individual 
and saw he had the look of an edu¬ 
cated man, and I also saw he looked 
unsuccessful. But I listened. 

“He said, £ Young fellow, I think 
you and I will make a successful team. 
I feel lucky! There are a lot of tape 
worms in this country, and each one 
is worth money if we can find them. 
And we ought to be able to find them.’ 

“I said, 'Sure, I’ve hunted every¬ 
thing else on earth, and I think this is 
the opportunity of my life. Lay out 
your scheme and I’m on the job. Mind 








































































































































Stories Heard in Cafes 


99 


you, I haven’t got any money, but I 
have a ton of nerve, which is just as 
good, and I have a reservoir filled with 
hot air I can pump into language that 
is convincing if the fellow I meet is not 
an intellectual giant.’ 

“Well, the scheme is this: I am a 
full fledged doctor, graduated from 
Philadelphia in a c jig-time’ course and 
have a diploma that is a peach. We’ll 
take a suite of rooms, post this diploma 
in sight and advertise and get the suck¬ 
ers to coming. Now all you have got 
to do is to convince them.” 

“Is that all?’ said I. 

“Yes, that’s all—it’s a cinch! All 




100 


Cafe Cackle 


you have to do is to tell everyone that 
comes in that he or she has a worm—a 
tape worm—not less than a hundred 
feet long. 5 ’ 

“Not less than a hundred feet? And 
I suppose I can stretch that twenty- 
five or thirty feet if I feel good? But 
haven’t we got to give them an ocular 
demonstration ?” 

“Sure, I have got that cooked up 
all right. You see this syringe,” and 
he showed me a design drawn on paper 
of a big tin affair; “but,” he said, “I 
won’t give away the scheme until I see 
you are in dead earnest about it, as I 
know we can make a fortune and make 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


101 


it quick. You go and find a suite of 
rooms and give the landlord a promise 
of a bonus, and we will go to a store 
down here that is furnishing apart¬ 
ments on the installment plan and get 
a fine outfit. We have everything to 
gain and nothing to lose. If the money 
comes in, they get it, and if it doesn’t, 
they get it in the neck. But I really 
intend to pay them, as I know we can 
find the worms.” 

“Well,” said I, “if you are positive 
about the worms, I am positive about 
getting the rooms and the furniture, 
and I know I can stand off the paper 
for the advertising as I am a 'beauty 



102 


Cafe Cackle 


bright with ink slingers. I can get a 
page without a cent/ ” 

“Well, we don’t want less than a 
page,” said the doctor, “and you had 
better take it for a month.” 

“I had to smile, and I agreed to go 
after the bunch—but I asked the doc¬ 
tor if he would come along and back 
me up, as I might not think of every¬ 
thing.” 

“No,” said the doctor, “you go; it 
would not look well for me to go. You 
are my manager. See! I am the big 
doctor, exclusive, you know, hard to 
get at, as I am a busy man. Looks like 
business, you know.” 





ORRiBLE 


v 


















Stories Heard in Cafes 


105 


“Well, I started out, and as luck 
would have it landed everything we 
wanted. I never threw such a bluff in 
my life. I didn’t even mention money 
while talking to them. I gave them 
the hurry gag and rushed out, saying 
‘send it over immediately and send in 
your bill . 5 The only one that showed 
any hesitancy was the newspaper man, 
but when I told him a full page for 
two months he weakened and said c all 
right . 5 We got the stuff in shape in 
short order and were open for business 
in two days after the scheme was men¬ 
tioned. The ‘ad 5 was a wonder! It 
convinced everyone that read it that 



io6 


Cafe Cackle 


the doctor could cure every disease 
known to human flesh in a much 
quicker time than it took to catch it. 
The doctor remained in the adjoining 
room with his ear near the keyhole, and 
everyone that came in divulged secrets 
and symptoms that were alarming, 
which the doctor noted, and I sug¬ 
gested to each individual the probabil¬ 
ity of a tape worm. I then passed the 
patient on to the doctor, who verified 
my prediction, and gave all of the 
symptoms—which of course, were the 
same as were told to me by the unsus¬ 
pecting patient. This had a stupefy¬ 
ing effect on the patient, who immedi- 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


107 


ately coughed up the dough 5 in the 
vernacular of the day. 

“We guaranteed to refund the mon¬ 
ey if the tape worm was not brought 
away whole—head and all. This we 
accomplished in a magical way, and 
charged from $25.00 to $250.00 for 
each worm. We would give the pa¬ 
tient a potion to drink that would 
make a horse sick. I would hold his 
head and the doctor would manipu¬ 
late the syringe, which was large and 
contained a worm which was held in 
place in a cylinder by a flap that re¬ 
leased said worm by touching a spring. 
I would talk to the patient in soothing 



io8 


Cafe Cackle 


tones and tell him ‘it would be all over 
in a few minutes’ and would hold his 
head in such a manner that he would 
not see the doctor manipulating his 
syringe, and the worm would usually 
strike the bed-pan with a dull thud. 

“This worm was removed from hun¬ 
dreds of patients, and each one was 
completely cured and we accumulated 
a fortune. Now you know why I talk 
worm.” 































































4 





% 























































A COCK-FIGHT. 

On a muddy night in October I ar¬ 
rived in Chicago from Denver, after 
a wet trip and put out for a Bohemian 
resort that feeds all nationalities. 
After washing up, I dropped in for 
dinner and was singled out by a good 
old sport, who said he had met me in 
’Frisco, and asked me if I would like 
an evening s enjoyment? I told him 
I didn’t mind, and asked him what was 
on the program. He said, “We have a 
club over here on the river front where 
111 


1 12 


Cafe Cackle 


we fight chickens. Of, course you un¬ 
derstand it is not allowed, but we 
stand in. A good many of the real boys 
belong—the politicians of the town, 
you know, and we have a nice quiet 
evening and sometimes many thou¬ 
sands of dollars change hands. All you 
have got to do is to follow me and look 
wise. I’ll tip the door tender off, and 
there is nothing to it. 5 ’ 

We finished dinner and started off. 
We walked down into a dark part of 
the town and chased along railroad 
tracks, climbed over box cars and final¬ 
ly arrived at a saloon with a small 
light in front. We entered, passed 



























. 



r 
































Stories Heard in Cafes 


115 


through and arrived at a door that was 
barred, and a little panel was opened 
at a signal. We passed in. The air was 
rather blue with cigar smoke and a 
quiet crowd sat nervously watching a 
pair of chickens that were picking and 
spurring each other in the most ap¬ 
proved fashion. Finally one of them 
toppled over dead, and the crowd 
heaved a long-drawn-out sigh and 
money changed hands with a click. 
My escort was surrounded in a jiffy 
and all wanted to know if he “thought 
he could pick a winner.” 

My friend was as game as the chick¬ 
ens, and he said he would back his 



116 


Cafe Cackle 


judgment with the coin, and added, 
“Follow me. 55 We passed into another 
room where the coops were kept and 
he examined the cocks with a critical 
eye, and picked out a big-legged fowl 
and began trimming the wings, neck 
and tail, and sawing the spurs and ad¬ 
justing the steels. Fie threw the chick¬ 
en in the air a few times and watched 
him light, and was apparently satis¬ 
fied that he had a winner. The other 
crowd had also prepared a fowl and 
the bunch retired to the pit and the 
sport was on. At least they called it 
“sport.” The birds flew at each other 
at sight and began knifing eachoth- 













































































































































• 











• 









































I ■ 



















Stories Heard in Cafes 


119 


er and it was apparent it would be 
a short-fight. At the end of the first 
go it was found one of the cocks 
had lost his eye, and the other had been 
spurred through the gizzard. As soon 
as time was called again, money was 
put up on the length of time it would 
last and bets were made on the first 
death. The roosters were intent on 
destruction. A round more was nearly 
finished when one fell over dead and 
the other followed a second after. The 
decision was so close a general discus¬ 
sion took place and bad blood was 
caused between several of the specta¬ 
tors, among.whom were two policemen 



120 


Cafe Cackle 


and three hold-up men. The discus¬ 
sion continued for some time and the 
meeting was closed and the crowd filed 
out into the saloon and tried to drown 
their sorrow in Bourbon. Several suc¬ 
ceeded. My friend and I left the place 
and struck out for home. As we grop¬ 
ed along the narrow streets and dark 
passageways, my friend intimated he 
was “leary” of the outcome of the 
evening s enjoyment as some of the 
“boys” were pretty “tough” and added 
the chickens were not all the trouble. 
“You know that policeman with the 
drooping moustache,” he continued, 
“well, he stole a girl from that big fel- 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


121 


low with a cock-eye, who is a bad boy, 
and I wouldn’t be surprised if we 
heard of a killing.” 

This seemed so easy and pleasant I 
was overjoyed, and as we neared the 
house I was almost inclined to run and 
get under cover quickly and there 
await developments. 

The next afternoon a notice ap¬ 
peared that a roundsman had been 
missing for a few hours and particu¬ 
lars of his whereabouts would be 
gracefully accepted at the precinct. 
The following morning a column ap¬ 
peared, and a degree of mystery 
seemed to surround the case. 



122 


Cafe Cackle 


Two days afterwards a whole page 
appeared with the policeman’s picture 
and a photograph of the river where 
his body was found. Some thought it 
was foul play and others suicide. My 
friend said: “I told you so! That 
hold-up man did the trick. But it’s 
just as well to keep quiet now that it’s 
happened, as some of the other boys 
might get notoriety, and it would spoil 
our sport. I like cock-fights.” 



















































































. 

. r* 





































































































i 









































GHOSTS. 

One night after the show in Winni¬ 
peg, we walked over to a cafe and took 
a table in the corner under a light and 
ordered a lunch. The shadows fell 
about the place in a peculiar manner, 
and as there was nothing but the 
tables to gaze at we naturally dropped 
back on our own resources for amuse¬ 
ment. The restaurant was empty and 
had an atmosphere of spookishness 
that was noticeable. The waiter 
looked like a ghost, and seemed to 
125 


126 


Cafe Cackle 


drift in on the draft that came from 
the kitchen when the door was open. 
His eyes were deep set and looked like 
beads. The sockets were dark and the 
light coming from above gave the 
holes a much darker appearance than 
they would otherwise have had. He 
was tall and stoop-shouldered, and 
showed his upper and lower teeth 
when meditating and his nostrils were 
pinched as he took in and exhaled his 
breath which was short—in fact, it 
came near being a pant. The superior 
vertebra as it protruded from the black 
dress-suit didn’t look unlike a skulk 







































- 







* 

. 




- ■* 
















































4 










Stories Heard in Cafes 129 

As I studied his contour, I had a 
feeling that was almost pathetic. 

The ladies said they felt “uncanny- 
like.” 

I said, “I’ll bet he is a Spiritualist.” 

I called him over and asked him “if 
anyone had died about the place 
lately!” 

He said, “Yes, one of the cooks com¬ 
mitted suicide last night; he used to 
commune with the spirits that flit 
about the range out there in the 
kitchen.” 

The waiter’s voice was sepulchral 
and trembled as he related this inci¬ 
dent and looked behind him in a 



130 


Cafe Cackle 


manner that would give a statue a 
chill. 

There was a silence about the place 
at this moment not unlike a tomb. 

I suggested to the waiter that the 
house was about as cheerful as a 
morgue, and asked him if he had any 
finger-bowls in the kitchen. 

The meal we ordered remained un¬ 
touched, and looked more like the 
viands on a Chinese grave than any¬ 
thing else. We waited ten minutes 
longer, and gazed vacantly into space 
—there was certainly a spell over the 
crowd. Finally we felt a draft and a 
chill creep up our spines, and as it ele- 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


131 

vatored down again, the waiter floated 
in and deposited the finger-bowls be¬ 
side our plates, and gazed at them 
with marked attention. A vapor 
seemed to come out of one of them, 
and the caverns in this skull-waiter 
seemed to light up. He was certainly 
“seeing something.” The table seemed 
to move, and two or three knocks were 
distinctly heard, followed by a buzz 
that sounded like the rattle of an old 
rattler himself. 

The waiter said, addressing one of 
the ladies, “Your sister wishes to com¬ 
municate with you. She has just 
passed over. She left the body a few 



132 


Cafe Cackle 


minutes ago. Her earthly remains are 
in a room in Chicago, and he described 
the room with its surroundings and 
also the people, which the lady recog¬ 
nized as the family, and neighbors. 

We were all incredulous as we 
gathered our wraps together and filed 
out of the place. 

The next morning the lady received 
a dispatch announcing the death of her 
sister the night before. 










































‘ 
















* 

- • 























. 


- 













' 































































• ■_ 


















































THE HUNGRY GIANT. 

One beautiful day in the month of 
May, we left New York for Stamford, 
Conn. Our leaving was fraught with 
much anxiety, as we took a girl baby 
on the journey for the first time. This 
mite of humanity was active, and at¬ 
tempted to eat seats, plush and all and 
claw into everything we passed, and at 
last succeeded in clutching into an old 
gentleman’s hair with both hands and 
bringing him out of a peaceful sleep, 
and yelling because she couldn’t pull 
135 


136 


Cafe Cackle 


his whiskers out to the amusement of 
all on the train, with the exception of 
the old patriarch. 

At last we landed in Stamford and 
called at an address we were given by 
some professional friends, and were 
greeted by a German lady who in¬ 
formed us she could accommodate us 
with rooms, but she didn’t think she 
could with board as she was short of 
help and must clean house, as it was 
May. 

I finally persuaded her we were easy 
to please, and would pay her more 
than her regular price and she ac¬ 
quiesced. 


























* 














. 

































- 














- • * • 

*■ 

- 


II 






















Stories Heard in Cafes 


139 


We had got comfortably settled 
when we heard a ring, and also heard 
another bargain going on in the hall 
and we guessed it was another profes¬ 
sional seeking a home for a week. But 
this individual beat the lady down be¬ 
low her regular price, stating he was 
not a large eater for his size. 

Of course, we overheard this conver¬ 
sation through the transom and it 
sounded all right. 

At supper, we discovered our error. 

This individual was not “a large 
eater for his size.” He may have been 
conscientious, but his size was enor- 



140 


Cafe Cackle 


mous. He was 8 ft. tall and weighed 
550 pounds. 

He ate with great deliberation, but 
the mouthfuls he took would frighten 
a wolf. A platter with eight cuts of 
steak (for as many people) disap¬ 
peared in as many mouthfuls, and his 
eyes glanced around for more. Dish 
after dish was emptied with a precis¬ 
ion that was remarkable, and as the 
landlady saw her Sunday dinner go¬ 
ing to rest under the belt of this giant, 
large beads of perspiration stood out 
on her temples, for she knew some of 
the other people would be in shortly, 
and expect a little, at least. The stores 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


141 


were closed for the day, and things 
looked panicky. 

The landlady was pale, and a 
shrewd observer could see she was fig¬ 
uring how much she would lose on the 
week, if this man’s appetite kept up. 

However, she braced herself up and 
ordered the girl to bring in the dessert. 
Now, it so happened this gentleman 
had a sweet tooth and the way he filed 
away that pie was amazing. 

He asked if he could have “just one 
piece more, as it was delicious.” 

The girl informed him she was sorry 
but there was no more in the kitchen. 



142 


Cafe Cackle 


I asked him if he would accept 
mine, as I never ate pie. 

He accepted it and it disappeared as 
though some magician had conjured 
it, and I handed him my wife’s pie 
when she was looking in the other di¬ 
rection. 

He whispered to me that he was 
“ashamed to take it,” and I said, 
“Never mind, so am I.” 

In a twinkling this had vanished 
from the plate, and he looked around 
in a weird sort of way, and said: “I 
guess I’m done.” I said, “No! it’s the 
landlady!” 

He didn’t seem to catch this, as he 





f 
















Stories Heard in Cafes 


145 


was apparently no joker—but in dead 
earnest. The thought struck him there 
was some coffee coming, and he whis¬ 
pered to the girl to bring it in. 

I also whispered, as she passed me, 
to bring in a pot, as nothing short of a 
gallon would do. 

She took my tip and brought in the 
pot that was intended for the crowd. 

He drank this after he had sweet¬ 
ened it with a bowl of sugar and a 
pitcher of cream. 

He asked me if I wanted to take a 
walk with him, as he “usually walked 
after his meals, as it gave him an ap¬ 
petite.” 



146 


Cafe Cackle 


I strolled out with him and winked 
at the landlady as I passed. 

We walked about the town for 
about an hour, and he spied a lunch 
wagon. He felt hungry, stopped and 
ate three pies—a custard, a mince and 
a pumpkin. He then went to bed. 

His appetite continued unimpaired 
for the week, and when he paid the 
landlady, he told her he had enjoyed 
her cooking very much, and although 
he learned he could have got board 
cheaper at some of the other houses, 
he was satisfied. 

The landlady let it go at this, as she 
was satisfied to have her happy home. 





C=3 
















































A BULL-FIGHTER’S DEMISE. 

At a table d’hote on 25th St., New 
York City, a Spaniard asked the wait¬ 
er if he “knew that funny looking gen¬ 
tleman over there*?” meaning me. 

The waiter told him he had seen my 
face published in the papers as an as¬ 
trologer, and my pictures in front of 
several of the theaters doing different 
specialties, so he guessed I was a fakir. 

This information was accepted by 
the Spaniard as being about the truth. 
But there is something deeper in Na- 
149 


l .?0 


Cafe Cackle 


ture than we know that causes people 
to be inquisitive about “funny looking 
people.” 

This incident worked out pecu¬ 
liarly. 

At the time, I had a School of Oc¬ 
cultism on the avenue, was painting a 
few pictures, writing a little on anat¬ 
omy, and turning out a few books of 
poems, juggling in the theaters, and 
doing mind-reading in the drawing¬ 
rooms. Consequently my unoccupied 
time was filled with gladness. 

During one of these moments the 
bell rang and as the door opened I rec¬ 
ognized the Spaniard who had taken 

























Stories Heard in Cafes 


153 


the trouble to inquire about me while 
digesting his table d’hote. 

He looked at me incredulously, and 
said: “So you are the astrologer?” I 
bowed and asked him if he wanted me 
to cast his horoscope. 

He evidently wanted it for he 
reached for his pocket-book. 

I threw up a figure and read it for 
him and predicted his death in just 
two years, telling him he would be 
killed in Mexico, by an animal. 

He laughed and said, “The waiter 
called you a ‘fakir’—he is right.” 

He shook hands with me and left. 

Two years and three months after- 



154 


Cafe Cackle 


wards I was in Cuba playing the Pay- 
ret Theatre with my company, when a 
lady sent in her card asking for an in¬ 
terview. 

I saw her and she told me she was 
the wife of a bull-fighter, who had 
been killed three months before, and 
showed me the figure I had thrown up 
predicting his death. She also pre¬ 
sented me with a large sun-opal ring 
that was taken from his finger after he 
expired. I wear the ring to remind 
myself “I am a fakir!” 










































AT DELMONICO’S. 

The Metropolitan Museum of New 
York contains many wonderful mas¬ 
terpieces. One day as I stood in front 
of a portrait by Velasquez, a gentle¬ 
man asked me if I liked it. I was much 
amused, so I turned around and look¬ 
ed at this gentleman’s face. He looked 
every inch a noble crank. He was 
long-bodied with a large head, cov¬ 
ered with curly auburn hair, dropping 
over a massive brow. His nose was 
short and broad, and the eyes wide 
apart, large and brown. The legs were 
157 


158 


Cafe Cackle 


short and thick and looked more like 
stumps than shank automobiles. 

His clothes were loud and expres¬ 
sive. The tie was red and had a large 
diamond in it. 

On talking with him, I detected he 
was a Socialist. I also told him I was 
something of a Socialist myself, 
whereupon he said: “Put it there,” 
holding out his hand. 

Continuing he said: “Are you mar¬ 
ried 4 ? If so, get your wife and I’ll get 
mine and we’ll go over to Delmonico’s 
and have dinner—and when I say 
we’ll have dinner, we’ll have dinner, 








































































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Stories Heard in Cafes 


161 


He certainly had ideas about Social¬ 
ism, and the more he talked, the more 
I knew he was a Socialist. 

When my wife and I met him and 
his wife at Delmonico’s, we were cer¬ 
tainly a Socialistic party. When we 
left, we were Socialistic inside and 
outside. 

At the table his size loomed up and 
looked imposing, as his torso was about 
the only thing in sight. The table hid 
his legs, and before we had cut many 
blocks into that “menu,” I felt as 
though I would like to get under that 
table and play peek-a-boo with the 
passersby. 

He insisted on wine and then some 



162 


Cafe Cackle 


more, and the more he drank the more 
of a Socialist he became, until he in¬ 
sisted on getting on the table and mak¬ 
ing a Socialistic speech to the “non- 
socialists” present. 

The head waiter came over and tried 
to explain, but my friend kissed him 
and called him brother. 

Finally, we were urged to get out 
of the place by a gentleman dressed in 
beautiful blue broadcloth, but not be¬ 
fore liquidating the bill for liquids, 
terrapin and canvas back. 

The check called for $84.00. 

My friend handed the waiter a $100 
bill, and added, “Keep the change 
(hie) I (hie) am a (hie) Socialist.” 



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A NAUGHTY MAN. 

At Morton’s New York, you see all 
kinds of people that like a good meal. 
The atmosphere of the place is rather 
easy, and many fine tales are told, if 
one has an ear that is properly trained 
and an eye that is a little above a sal¬ 
mon’s. I mention this seeing quality 
as it is a well known fact, if a person 
is observing, many a drama is caught 
without words. In fact, there are ex¬ 
pressions that have a deeper effect on 
the system than any language that has 
165 


i66 


Cafe Cackle 


yet been coined. I got in the place 
one evening rather early and got a 
table in the corner and took my seat 
where I could watch the crowd, and 
observe the gathering. 

1 always stand in with waiters, and 
many a fine tip I get from these fel¬ 
lows, who have usually traveled ex¬ 
tensively, and are much more observ¬ 
ing than the majority of people. They 
may take orders, but don’t forget they 
usually note how the order is given. 
You never know who you are liable to 
meet waiting on you. The man who 
waited on me this particular evening 
was a nobleman, whom I had met in 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


167 


the drawing rooms of London. And 
bear in mind, noblemen are not all 
dummies, reports to the contrary not¬ 
withstanding. 

This fellow was a fly 'gazabo.” He 
knew nearly everyone that ate in Mar¬ 
tin’s, and came near knowing what 
they followed and had a fair line on 
their bank account. He certainly had 
an eye for the ridiculous, and was a 
detective of no mean order, for many 
a time I would ask him to get a line on 
a party and he would come back with 
the desired information and impart it 
to me gracefully while removing the 
dishes. And sometimes he would 



i68 


Cafe Cackle 


carry on a conversation through the 
different courses without the people at 
the next table ‘getting next / 5 He had 
seen many sides of life, and was an 
optimist, at least he was when he saw 
me, and was very communicative. On 
this particular evening a party came in 
and he placed them near me, and tip¬ 
ped me off that a romance had hap¬ 
pened to the girl with a large hat, and 
explained it in very choice English, 
sometimes it was too choice for pub¬ 
lication, as he had an honorable streak 
and rebelled at some of the’outrages 
that he came in contact with. 

This girl’s life seemed to be a balm 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


169 


to his philosophic disposition, as the 
finish of a love affair proved. 

He related the story to me and gar¬ 
nished it in language that would look 
rather tobasco-like in print, but the 
answer to the affair was this. 

The lady in question had been a 
frequenter of Morton’s for several 
years, and one evening with a party of 
friends he had overheard the follow¬ 
ing conversation. This young lady 
was keeping company with a gentle¬ 
man and engaged to be married in two 
weeks, the announcement having been 
made, etc., along the conventional 
lines of staid society, and everything 



i?o 


Cafe Cackle 


seemed to be going along nicely, in so 
far as Mable Hempston knew—for 
this was the name of the lady in ques¬ 
tion. 

Now, apparently, Mable didn’t 
know much, for in the very party that 
she was with sat her very dearest girl 
friend, Lula Parns, who looked as in¬ 
nocent as a turtle dove. Innocent 
faces, baby faces and confidential eyes 
with loving frankness are misleading, 
for the story goes that Lula was onto 
her job—that is she thought she was— 
for she had evidently been making 
angel-eyes at Frederick Lorton—the 
gentleman that had notified the public 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


171 


through advertisement of his inten¬ 
tions of marrying Mable Hempston. 

Frederick evidently fell before these 
liquid orbs of Lula, as others in the 
party had detected, and were even 
“on” that there was something doing. 
One of these old matrons, by way of 
diversion, asked Mable why she had 
broken off with Frederick. 

Mable answered she hadn’t heard of 
it, and stated she had an appointment 
with Frederick Wednesday night. 

The old matron intimated some¬ 
what sarcastically that perhaps Lula 
could break the news gently and ease 
her childish mind. 




172 


Cafe Cackle 


However, Mable saw Frederick on 
the appointed Wednesday and was 
told by Frederick when she asked him 
about the rumor, “that it was true, but 
he thought he would spare her feelings 
as he knew how she loved him!” 

Mable came near having heart fail¬ 
ure, but she braced herself up, and he 
asked her if she would act as brides¬ 
maid at the marriage of himself and 
Lula. 

Mable swallowed a few times and 
accepted this delightful proposition. 

He said he was glad to see her so 
brave, and would always be her friend 
and he knew Lula would. 




































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• Stories Heard in Cafes 


'15 


After he left that night Mable was 
of the opinion that delightful friends 
don’t “cut much ice” in this neglected 
world. 

Mable swallowed the lesson in 
chunks, and it seemed to have a medic¬ 
inal effect, for one of her eyes was 
opened good and wide, even if the 
other was on the bum. 

She saw them married, and noted 
the love-light in their darling eyes. 

She returned to her home with a 
lighter heart, as she felt there must be 
something wrong about this boosted 
love-god. 

The sun came up the next morning 



176 


Cafe Cackle 


and all seemed fairly well to her and 
the verdure seemed to be holding its 
own. That evening old Sol dipped 
behind the hills and came up smiling 
as of yore, and the year finally rolled 
around. 

Lula called on her one evening and 
said, Frederick had gone out with 
some of the boys, but would probably 
be back and take her home in an hour 
or so. 

Mable listened and looked. She ob¬ 
served the love-light had left Lula’s 
eyes—especially did she note this 
love-light was apparently being 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


177 


chased when the name of Frederick 
came from between Lula’.s teeth. 

Frederick came in all right! all 
right! !, but not until 3 o’clock in the 
morning, and instead of his taking 
Lula home, she took him, with the as¬ 
sistance of another strong man who 
was wont to do odd jobs about the 
neighborhood. 

Lula also intimated in plain, unde¬ 
niable English that the “d—d brute 
had been getting in in the same condi¬ 
tion for the last three months!” 

When this trio disappeared into the 
dismal gloom, Mable patted herself 



i?8 


Cafe Cackle 


on the shoulder and ejaculated “lucky 
dog!” 

Mable went abroad, studied music 
for three years, came back an accom¬ 
plished musician, and married a Gov¬ 
ernor’s son, who is a model husband. 
They are very happy. 

Frederick is a patient at Ward’s Is¬ 
land, and Lula is doctoring with a spe¬ 
cialist. 

The love-god is certainly a joker— 
“be-times.” 




































































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A LOVING COUPLE. 

The City of Salt Lake abounds in 
cafes that are fitted up with boxes that 
are nearly private, that is, they are 
private to the extent of partitions that 
are eight feet high. The table is large 
enough for two and everything is done 
to make things agreeable. In fact, a 
couple going into these boxes feels 
very much at home. 

You can talk fairly loud withou 
being heard in the next box, unless the 
ears of the occupants are rabbit like. 

181 


182 


Cafe Cackle 


There are people in this world that 
are “skittish”—and sometimes nearly 
alive to surroundings. 

A case of this character happened in 
one of these cafes that caused many a 
Mormon to wink an eye. 

It seems a gentleman had met an 
affinity in some extraordinary way and 
had invited this lady to have dinner 
with him at one of these cafes, and of 
course had sense enough to take a box 
so as to make the lady feel free from 
embarrassment, as some ladies are a 
trifle nervous when going out with 
even an affinity for the first time. 

Of course no one knows whether the 







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Stories Heard in Cafes 


185 


electro-nervo fluid is going to flow just 
right or not. This is sad, but true. 

It proved both sad and true in this 
case. 

The gentleman neglected several 
things. 

And strange as it may appear, the 
lady neglected asking several ques¬ 
tions she should have asked. 

The gentleman neglected telling 
this lady he was a married man. 

And the lady neglected telling the 
gentleman she was married, and she 
also forgot to tell him her husband was 
a big bruiser and frightfully jealous. 

Lovers should always be honest 



186 


Cafe Cackle 


with each other, but they seldom are, 
for some unknown cause, unless it is 
they are so absorbed in this deep sub¬ 
ject, that there is not space in the small 
craniums to hold real honesty. 

However, they were in the box and 
had the good fortune to get down to 
the coffee without a serious mishap. 
Of course the wine had got to circulat¬ 
ing like a bunch of needles, and each 
felt rather gleeful, and an occa¬ 
sional “snicker” was heard to escape 
from the box. 

Now it seems the wife of the gentle¬ 
man had been out doing some Christ¬ 
mas shopping and was late, so she con- 



Slories Heard in Cafes 


187 


eluded to drop into the cafe and have 
dinner. 

By some peculiar law of attraction, 
she was placed in the next box to this 
now gay and loving couple. She evi¬ 
dently heard the small laughs escape 
from the adjoining box, and strange 
to say she was not pleased—her nerves 
were probably a little tired from the 
shopping. 

But the laugh seemed to grate on 
what she had left. 

The waiter had brought her in a 
large tureen of soup, and followed this 
up with ribs of beef Spanish with spa- 



i88 


Cafe Cackle 


ghetti and tomato sauce, and a few 
juicy vegetables. 

She had been so intent listening she 
had not eaten the soup, but the waiter 
was gentleman enough to leave it and 
make a sneak, closing the door softly 
behind him. 

He may have thought it was not 
necessary to disturb her in her 
thoughts. 

He may also have thought she look¬ 
ed dangerous! 

She evidently was throwing off a 
feeling—but not of love. 

She decided quickly she was not 
hungry, but she had in mind what she 
would do with that meal, and she act- 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


189 

ed with surprising alacrity. For she 
heaved it over the partition, dishes and 
all. 

That there was an attraction in the 
adjoining box was soon evident, for 
two of the most dilapidated specimens 
of love came butting into the aisle, 
that one would care to look at. 

Their hair was dripping with soup, 
spaghetti and beef clung to their cloth¬ 
ing and the Spanish was in their eyes. 

The crockery falling sounded like 
an earthquake, and the people were 
sitting up and taking notice from all 
sides. 

And to make matters worse, the af¬ 
finity’s husband came in and saw this 



Cafe Cackle 


190 

man mixed with his wife and immedi¬ 
ately drew the conclusion they were 
both out of the same stew, and lost no 
time in punching the head of this poor 
love, which must have been soft, for it 
puffed up at each smash like whipped 
cream. At last they were separated 
and they went on their way as origi¬ 
nally paired. 

The only difference between the 
couples was one gentleman had a large 
head, while the other lady had two 
black eyes. One eye came from a plat¬ 
ter, while the other was handed her for 
a Christmas present by the lady who 
had lost her appetite, but knew what 
to do with the meal. 






















































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A PHONOGRAPH AFFINITY. 

One afternoon in February we 
strolled into Kanton’s, Omaha, and 
ordered a steak and whiled away the 
time during preparation in drinking a 
couple of bottles of Swedish porter 
and listening to the amusing remarks 
of the Captain, John Camtcns, a citi¬ 
zen of Copenhagen, and a waiter on 
the world at large. John, like the rest 
of humanity, has had his troubles and 
joys in all parts of the world. He has 
sold recipes for sauces, dressings, etc., 
193 


194 


Cafe Cackle 


to the 400 and scrambled eggs for tour- 
ist-Americans in foreign lands. And 
don’t forget John is wise—a philoso¬ 
pher withal. His ups-and-downs have 
only served to develop his eye for the 
ridiculous. Once he quit his job at the 

Parker House,-, and struck out 

for New York. His friends thought 
he was on an ill-fated steamer that 
went to the bottom, but it seems fate 
was kind to him for he changed his 
mind and went by train. 

His death was reported in the papers 
though, and he was among the miss¬ 
ing on the ship’s record. 

His friends in New York surround- 




Stories Heard in Cafes 


195 


ed him on his arrival and were joyful, 
and glad of his narrow escape—and 
the little son of one of his crones said, 
“John, we thought you were food for 
the little fishes!” 

John sent a postal to his friends in 

-stating he had arrived safely 

on a cake of ice, with a glass of Wurtz- 
berger in one hand and a limberger 
cheese sandwich in the other. 

This had a drawback also,, for the 

proprietor of the-— place sent in 

a bill for $10, stating a waiter had 
been sent to Providence to identify 
his body in the morgue. 

On top of this followed another 





i q6 


Cafe Cackle 


event of moment, for a girl that John 
had only met a couple of times, wrote 
she was coming to New York to marry 
him, and to meet her at the boat. 

By this time John was sorry the re¬ 
ports in the papers were not true. 

But he was a “blood” and met the 
boat on its arrival and looked for his 
sweetheart. He was not quite sure in 
his own mind whether he remembered 
her or not, but his memory was jogged 
on the wharf by a punch in the jaw, 
which was “so sudden” as his sweet¬ 
heart had arrived and administered 

this as a rebuke for leaving - 

without bidding her “good-bye.” 














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Stories Heard in Cafes 


199 


She also stated in very choice En- 
lish that she had come prepared to 
marry. 

John didn’t think there had been 
much preparation as it was a February 
snow storm and she still had on a straw 
hat. 

John was keeping pace, however, as 
he had on a light summer overcoat and 
($3.04) three dollars and four cents 
in his pocket. 

John led the way through the “mad¬ 
dening” crowd, followed by his sweet¬ 
heart and wound up at the City Hall. 
He was here told he would have to 
have a license in order to carry out his 



200 


Cafe Cackle 


peculiarly astonishing ideas of matri¬ 
mony, and of course he was also asked 
the names of his sweetheart’s parents 
—which he didn’t know, and his 
sweetheart was so stubborn she would 
not tell for hours. 

The suspense nearly broke John’s 
head. At any rate, the clerk said he 
would crack his skull if he didn’t tell 
d—d quick. 

This had the desired effect for he 
got his license after consulting with 
the Danish Consul. John said his hon¬ 
eymoon was a great affair. It consist¬ 
ed of a bowl of soup, with two spoons. 

As John concluded this narrative a 























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Stories Heard in Cafes 


203 


well-dressed woman called John over 
to her table and asked if “Caruss was 
in?” 

John was somewhat puzzled, but 
his quick wit came to him and he 
thought of the musical program which 
was being run in the phonograph “Ah! 
So Pure/’ from “Martha” by Caruss. 

He looked at me and winked, and 
said to the lady: “Mr. Caruss has just 
gone over to Schlitz’s to get a glass of 
beer, he will be back shortly”—where¬ 
upon the lady handed him a letter to 
be delivered to Caruss. 

The lady was disappointed beyond 



204 


Cafe Cackle 


description, and left, looking the pic¬ 
ture of dejection. 

John turned the letter over to me. 
This is it:— 

“My Dear Darling Caruss:—Have 
heard you sing ‘Ah! So Pure’ and I 
love you. My husband was a prospec¬ 
tor and located a hole and is now a rich 
miner, but he can’t sing half so good as 
you, I will leave him on short notice. 
Write me if you accept. 

“Your loving admirer, 

“Martha/ 5 

P. S.—Will be here tomorrow be¬ 
hind this post. 



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HONEST DEBTS. 


Have you ever paid attention to the 
fact, if you deliberately plan to do an 
injustice to a soul on this earth you get 
it in the neck. 

The following little story is one of 
hundreds that lodge in the “hole of 
black alleys.” 

A certain performer, whose name 
shall be sacred, was to perform at a 
Music Hall in Chicago. It seems he 
was in Detroit two weeks before his 
engagement in Chicago, and was de- 
207 


208 


Cafe Cackle 


void of the “wherewith” to purchase a 
ticket. 

He met a friend in this beautiful 
city of Detroit and told him his tale of 
woe. This friend listened until the 
pathetic story was finished and then 
disgorged the amount of $£ which with 
the amount the performer had already 
collected was enough to buy a ticket 
for the city of smoked hams. 

The performer was joyful and large 
tears welled in his eyes as he thought 
of the kind deed of this trustful friend. 

But here kind reader we will di¬ 
gress for a moment’s reflection. The 
moment a man strikes a seat in a mov- 




Stories Heard in Cafes 


209 


ing vehicle of any kind he is very like¬ 
ly to forget the cause that is urging 
him to his destination. This performer 
was human and consequently erred. 
He arrived in Chicago and saw the 
burg, sized up the shows and at last 
played his date. On Saturday night 
while doing his finishing performance, 
he happened to look out at the audi¬ 
ence and recognized his friend from 
Detroit who had been kind enough to 
loan him the $9.00. 

The friend held up his hand and 
spread out his fingers, and then point¬ 
ed over his shoulder to the front of the 
house, which in ' plain pantomine 



210 


Cafe Cackle 


meant “Will see you in front of the 
house after your performance as I 
want my $5.00!” 

The performer also had thoughts. 
He thought he would sneak out the 
back way with his salary and keep 
right on going with all of his money. 

As soon as he got through with his 
turn he washed up, dressed and put his 
chain of thoughts into execution. 

He sneaked out the back way and up 
a side street and chuckled to himself 
at his good judgment, when all of a 
sudden he was cracked in the head by 
a bold highwayman, and robbed of 
$40. 







































THE DOCTOR. 


At the Baltimore, K., one evening 
over a rarebit, J. L. Donker, the Ven¬ 
triloquist, related a little tale of his 
youth. At this period of his life he 
was employed in a doctor’s office, 
and this particular physician was over¬ 
ly polite and extremely solicitous as 
to the health of his patients. Not 
forgetting, mind you, to suggest im¬ 
provement to each and every one that 
came into his offices. Elis speech was 
somewhat stereotyped and ran as fol¬ 
lows : 


213 


214 


Cafe Cackle 


“Good morning! I see you are feel¬ 
ing better this morning! 55 

One morning a patient came and the 
Doctor met him at the door and sprung 
his usual speech as quoted above, 
whereupon the patient scowled and 
replied: 

“You are a d--d liar. I am feel¬ 

ing worse! 55 




































































THE GAMBLER’S LUCK. 

The gamblers sat at the game one 
night and eyed their cards full well, 

One at the game pulled in the pots; 
the others got not a smell. 

This went on till dark midnight—a 
chill ran through the crowd, 

Not a whisper was heard from a visage 
there, but the coin spoke quick and 
loud. 

At last a draft blew under the door and 
struck three pairs of feet, 


21 ? 


2 l8 


Cafe Cackle 


And each body attached to those three 
pairs quite quickly left its seat. 
Then it was a howl went up and the 
trio went forth in the night, 

And the lonely player just wrinkled 
his brow and watched them out of 
sight. 

Then it was he tried to rise, but his 
winnings took in the slack, 

He strained and tugged, but his pants 
were strong, and of course he broke 
his back! 


































LIFE. 


Universe without bound! A thunder¬ 
ing sound! 

That vibrates the soul of man. 

A vessel that’s empty—and solidly 
filled, 

That overflows easily, like water 
that’s spilled. 

No inside, no outside, as far as man 
sees, 

But the great soul responds and would 
drink to the lees! 

You divide, separate, and grind to a 
dust, 


221 


222 


Cafe Cackle 


And in each little atom is a world that 
will rust. 

The spirit still moves and perpetuates 
kind, 

And this mortals term the Eternal 
Mind. 

The diversified shapes that creep o’er 
the earth 

Are alive, have their being, and give 
forth a birth. 

Globules are formed that conform to 
a shape, 

And an eternal pattern forever they 
ape. 

In an egg do we see the form that is 
used, 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


223 


The formation of which can not be 
abused. 

All things adhere and touch at a point, 

And all things do break and fall from 
this joint. 

As the worlds whirl around and glide 
through their space, 

This is the form they eternally trace. 

Spirit and matter do touch at a point, 

And thus is life formed from this 
eternal joint. 

Each atom gives forth, responds and 
grows, 

And gives forth the shapes the eternal 
knows. 



224 


Cafe Cackle 


When conception takes place in mi¬ 
crobe or man, 

The growth is the same as the eternal 
plan. 

If the form be a fly—a fly will come 
forth, 

If woman conceive, mankind shows 
his worth. 

The worlds up above conform to this 
plan, 

And give forth a birth as often as man. 

Thus everything shows from the form 
that it springs, 

That like must produce a likeness of 
things. 










































































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T . • 



THE CHEERFUL GIVER. 


Behold the sucker at the game, with 
wide, dilated eye, 

He risks his cash and takes a chance 
at leaping to the sky. 

Fie thinks because the game looks 
good, he’ll risk a lot of cash, 

But the man that runs that simple 
game is there to settle hash. 

Of course the sucker sees the things, 
it’s plain as it can be, 

The man that shows how good it is, is 
there for company. 


228 


Cafe Cackle 


He tries the thing for fun you know, 
and simply turns the trick, 

But when he tries for money though, 
he’s up against Old Nick. 

That fakir man, with easy smile, is 
kind when it’s for fun, 

But when the sucker’s money’s up, he’s 
a real old son-of-a-gun. 

He stays in town just long enough to 
trim those suckers well, 

And when he leaves the old maids say 
he’s bound to go to hell. 

And still that fakir man lives well— 
by the grace of God, no doubt, 

For who else guides those sucker men 
to turn their pockets out? 
































































































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THE SURE-THING MAN. 

The sure-thing man led a life that was 

gay, 

He lived by the minute and not by 
the day; 

Could make many millions in the wink 
of an eye, 

And drop it as quick without even a 
sigh! 

To be sure he was broke most all of the 
time, 

But when he was thirsty he merely 
thought wine. 

He had a tap in his head with a very 
big spout— 

And when a leak sprung he sure had 
the gout! 


231 


232 


Cafe Cackle 


The millions he made went forth in 
the air, 

Wherever they blew nobody knew 
where. 

But what is the difference, wherever 
they went— 

A few millions more could be made 
with a cent. 

Just get a “sure-thing”—stick with it 
for life, 

You’re bound to be happy without the 
least strife. 

Whatever you need, just think good 
and strong, 

Your life will be merry, if it’s not very 
long! 



O O - 



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THE HUNGRY PAINTER. 

The night was wild and the blast blew 
cold, and the wind it howled with¬ 
out, 

The painter sat with gaunt, lean frame 
and wished he had the gout. 

Said he, “I think I’ll cast a prayer and 
see what luck I have, 

“I’ll pray for a sucker to blow this way 
that I may ‘con’ and ‘salve.’ 

“I’ll swell my art and make him think 
I’m really the whole cheese, 

“And take his cash and hand him out 

just what I ‘good d-d please.’ ” 

235 



236 


Cafe Cackle 


’Twas then he on his bended knees 
gave forth a glad salute. 

And as he finished his harangue in 
blew a swell “galute!” 

He had the connoisseur stare, his head 
was empty sure, 

And as he cast his optics ’round they 
rested immature. 

The artist gazed and listened to this 
critic’s time-worn phrase 

Of tone, of atmosphere, perspective 
too, and others that amaze. 

The while he thought, ££ I wonder when 
this sucker will invest— 

£ Td like to have them kill a beef, and 
have it nicely dressed. 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


237 


“ They say the whale mouthed Jonah 
once and swam around the sea, 

If I could catch a whale, you bet he’d 
swim around in me!” 

Just then he saw the critic’s eye take 
on the gleam of trance, 

And as he heaved he also saw a roll 
come from his pants. 

He counted out three hundred 
“bucks” and grabbed a canvas green 
And as he whirled out in the night, a 
gladsome smile was seen. 

“He’ll paint himself,” the painter 
said, ‘that paint is wet and red.’ 
“And so will I paint this old town be¬ 
fore I go to bed. 




•2 3 8 


Cafe Cackle 


“Three hundred bucks for that d—d 
daub—I did it in an hour, 

‘Til bet before this night is old, T 11 
make my stomach sour. 

‘Til eat and drink and eat some more, 
and wash it down with wine galore! 
“I’m losing time, I’ll at it quick, 

“And eat enough to make me sick.” 

In just three hours there tumbled in a 
man with vacant stare, 

He floundered ’round that dusty room 
and beat the dark blue air. 

Said he, “I think I’ll pray again, this 
load I cannot bear,” 

But as die thought came from his mind 
he heaved up what was there. 





































FOR HE WAS AN HONEST 
MAN 

He was noble and good, with a studi¬ 
ous mien— 

His forehead was high and his reason 
was keen, 

He knew how the planets went whirl¬ 
ing around, 

And why the cute gnomes inhabit the 
ground. 

He knew why the sylphs inhabit the 
air, 

And why the sea nymphs are decid¬ 
edly bare. 


241 


242 


Cafe Cackle 


He could write you a poem—a lyric or 
song, 

And write them all good without go¬ 
ing wrong. 

The ideal was his—he thought and he 
grew— 

This seeker of life—he imbibed but 
the true. 

His thoughts were serene, but his 
frame was quite thin. 

He was shabby without and empty 
within. 

His stomach was small, and digestion 
bad 

He ate what he could—whatever he 
had. 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


243 


For many long weeks he still thinner 
grew, 

Fie thought but the good and sought 
but the true. 

At last his sad eyes took on a keen 
stare, 

And his cheek bones did shine, in fact 
they did glare. 

But still he would preach and show 
all is well, 

Explain to the herd—the truth he 
would tell. 

One morning they found him, all 
bowed in the spine, 

He had crimps in his stomach—on 
naught did he dine, 

FOR HE WAS AN HONEST MAN. 




i 



















STRANDED. 


Off North State street, Chicago, is a 
Bohemian place that caters to the 
wants of man, presided over by a 
former professional, who related a 
story that can be summed up as fol¬ 
lows : 

Some few years back in the city 
of New York, there lived an indi¬ 
vidual, a trifle more thrifty than his 
worthy brothers, and through his 
natural integrity and thieving pro¬ 
clivities, he managed to amass a few 
245 


246 


Cafe Cackle 


millions of lazy eagles—and then he 
died. Sad to relate, his widow, like 
most of the half-civilized, had a strong 
desire to do something for art; conse¬ 
quently, having the fortune of her 
dead husband at her command, she sal¬ 
lied forth to instruct the world, after 
her own peculiar fashion. The world, 
of course is stubborn, as everyone with 
a grain of intelligence knows, and 
usually balks at the first step, like a 
timid child. But mind you, this fair 
widow had at her beck and call, a legal 
advisor who was wise in his own be¬ 
half,—if there was anything in sight 
that looked good. Strange to say, 









Stories Heard in Cafes 


249 


there has never been a lawyer since 
history straggled after the trail of man 
that has not developed an Indian eye 
for coin. This fellow was no degener¬ 
ate in this respect as his advice showed. 

He had ideas. 

He was a lover of statuary. 

He adored the nude. 

Consequently he advised this lady 
of artistic temperament to import a 
real opera troupe of Italian origin. 
He spoke of the Italian schools of 
painting and repainted the canvases 
of Raphael, Correggio and Titian, 
and each masterpiece sang the praises 
of the beauty of Italian skies, and ex- 



250 


Cafe Cackle 


uded the perfume of the sunny clime. 
Dante, Tasso, and the master musi¬ 
cians of Garibaldi’s land added their 
golden strains to the heavenly band, 
which would descend on America and 
take this heathen land by storm, pro¬ 
vided of course, the coin of the genial 
Jenea was forthcoming, and of course 
it was. Jenea would do something for 
her native land, the land of her birth 
and the grafting ground of her once 
beloved husband. 

And so she did—after a fashion. 

Many a murky night was spent in 
the struggle after the ideal which 
seemed to split in the mind of the foxy 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


251 


lawyer and the high minded, though 
wealthy Jenea. At last the force of 
the legal expert’s brain was exhausted 
and fell on a poor cripple who was 
sent to Italy- to select a company of 
spaghetti lovers and high-voiced wind- 
pushers, to say nothing about those 
that had shapely calves. 

The ballet was chosen with an eye 
that intimated the connoisseur. The 
girls were plump, buxon, and peach¬ 
like. The limbs were smooth, round, 
and tapering—like the head that 
selected them. And a prophecy 
seemed to exist in each fair member 
that was wont to point skyward. And 



2 £2 


Cafe Cackle 


after many days the troupe arrived. 
The sea had had its effects, but the 
worst was yet to come—the rehearsal. 
T his in time was over and the pros¬ 
pects looked rosy. 

(Whenever anything looks rosy on 
this earth—look out.) 

Business opened up strong at the 
Academy in New York, and tapered 
down like the ankle of the f premier.” 
Chicago was the next stand. Of course 
business would be great in Chicago.. 
The legal adviser had received this 
information from the manager of the 
show and the lovely angel Jenea, 
went down in her stocking after the 
coin to ship this artistic aggregation to 
the city of Chicago—which proved to 




Stones Heard in Cafes 


253 


be in the vernacular of the day—“On 
the Hog.” 

Day after day the managers of the 
various hotels watched the amusement 
notes in the yellow journal with eyes 
that depicted a strange terror, and at 
last concluded to throw the trunks of 
the fair “coryphees” into the street. 
This brutal attempt to strangle art 
was looked upon as dastardly—but 
just why the lovely Jenea could not 
understand. 

Truth is awful—unless backed by 
cash! 

But don’t forget, fair and unpreju¬ 
diced reader, the Americans, as a na¬ 
tion, are as kind as hyenas. 

This artistic aggregation 


was 





2^4 


Cafe Cackle 


hustled into a caboose behind a freight 
train and shipped back to New York 
in the short time of four days, during 
which period they had nothing to eat 
or drink—and mind you, no place to 
make their toilet. 

When this caboose was unlocked in 
New York the Board of Health should 
have been on the spot—but of course 
it wasn’t. Neither was the legal ad¬ 
viser of the fair Jenea. 

But some of the husky reporters 
must have smelt a story wafting on the 
breeze, anyway they followed their 
noses, for art’s sake, and found the 
most dilapidated opera troupe that 
ever struck a high spot on this mis¬ 
shapen sphere. 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


^55 


A tribe of cannibals would have 
been tame in comparison! 

Strange to say, these metropolitan 
newsmongers, or brain-fag artists had 
whisky-sense enough left to know a 
real banquet should be given this fam¬ 
ished troupe of “soul inspiring song,” 
Consequently led them to a restaurant 
conducted by a generous Italian who 
was seen to weep real tears without 
wringing a wet towel, as his country¬ 
men dilated their eyes as well as their 
stomachs, at his expense. 

The papers spoke in glowing terms 
of their great charity, and how they 
had rescued from the street these beau¬ 
tiful girls and how their price of sub¬ 
scription would remain the same, and 



256 


Cafe Cackle 


advised artists coming to this country 
to advertise in their want columns, 
etc. 

The poor Jenea bumped up against 
a hard nut, however, in this Italian 
purveyor of spaghetti, who also had a 
legal tendency, and threatened the 
ruination of Jenea’s artistic pate un¬ 
less she “dug down” for the “where¬ 
with” to send this troupe back to the 
sunny clime of grape and vine. 

Jenea felt of her coin and felt of 
her head and decided by chance which 
was the softest—and accidentally 
found the latter to be— 

And thus did art vanish from the 
Land of Graft. 























































































' 















• 










• 


































STUNG. 

In Minneapolis (not far from St. 
Paul, Minn.) is a restaurant that ca¬ 
ters to a fine class of Swedes, and is 
not averse to the coin of lesser nation¬ 
alities. The name suggests the Ger¬ 
man, but is managed by a Canadian. 

Strange things are wont to occur in 
places of this character. 

One afternoon the telephone rang 
and the stout manger responded with 
a switch of his curly yellow locks, and 
received the order of a very impatient 
voice for a spread for eight. 

259 


26 o 


Cafe Cackle 


The eventful hour came, the table 
was loaded down with flowers and the 
guests laughed for a time, and things 
seemed to be alright—but * * * 

Suddenly a charming lady became im¬ 
patient, moved about in her chair, 
blushed, excused herself from the table 
and made a hurried move toward the 
manager’s office. 

She became very confidential, and 
told this gentleman on entering of her 
plight,—he listened and seemed to be 
all ears, and heard the following: 

“You see, this was to have been my 
wedding supper. But you know that 
poor husband-to-be has not yet arrived 
and I am sure he is killed, dead, shot, 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


261 


or someone is holding him up for ran¬ 
som, or some terrible catastrophe has 
overtaken him—what shall I do 4 ? 

“I haven’t any money with me, the 
dinner is ordered, and I cant’ pay for 
it. What shall I do T 

The manager looked at her with 
his eyes starting out of their sockets, 
and again heard her say: 

“What shall I do 4 ?” 

This last query had the desired ef¬ 
fect. 

The gentlemanly.manager replied: 
“Go and sit down and I will pay for 
the supper out of my own pocket.” 

A relief came over the face of this 
fair lady and the supper was served, 



262 


Cafe Cackle 


but the seat of the husband-to-be was 
vacant. 

Naturally a story of this kind 
leaked out and the manager’s friends 
accused him of being soft, a good 
thing, and many of them thought he 
had been stung for fair. All of which 
he believed—“Nit.” 

His confidence seemed to be un¬ 
shaken, and he retained his mind un¬ 
impaired. 

Six months afterwards a lady came 
in all smiles and said she thought she 
owed a small bill, and would like to 
pay same, and related the circum¬ 
stance—which was 


unnecessary, as 



Stories Heard in Cafes 


263 


this genial manager remembered it dis¬ 
tinctly. 

It seems this lady’s sweetheart had 
been connected with a bank, and 
thought a trip for his health would be 
beneficial, and he took it on the night 
they were expecting him for supper. 
He also took along the loose change he 
found in the bank’s safe and has 
“scarcely been heard of since!” 

The manager was overjoyed to hear 
of this sad but distressing news and 
asked the lady if she didn’t “think he 
would do to fill the vacancy.” 

She seemed to think he would. 

He is now paying for all the meals 
—and the rumor goes they are happy 
—Poor mortals! 



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20 Years’ Adventures 

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